


it will never change me and you

by poppunklwt



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Band, Bars and Pubs, Broken Bones, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Dating, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, F/M, Ficlet, Fluff, Ice Skating, Louis-centric, M/M, Song: Night Changes, Songfic, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, also it's louis' birthday yay, also there's a heckton of beatles references bc i can, and zayn is totally oblivious to everything, kind of??, one scene is kind of based off the video so, short fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-03 04:12:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2837582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poppunklwt/pseuds/poppunklwt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Literally within days of Louis' twenty-third birthday, he meets Harry in the most unlikely of places--the bar of their local Hooters. Romance ensues, and Zayn is oblivious.</p><p>Or, the story of how Louis ends up with a broken ankle the day before his birthday.</p><p>Initially inspired by Harry's parts in the Night Changes music video.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there friends! I know this chapter kind of sucks, I'm hoping it will get better from here on out. This is probably only going to be a very short little ficlet, maybe five chapters at the most, give or take a few.
> 
> I was originally inspired to write something similar to this after watching the Night Changes video for the first time. When I saw Harry's parts, literally the first thing that popped into my mind was that 'wow, I could write a really cute fic based on that.' Yes, I am pathetic.
> 
> Anyways, enjoy this, and like always, thanks for reading my stuff!

_"I know_

_You and I_

_Are not about poems or_

_Other sentimental bullshit_

_But I have to tell you_

_Even the way_

_You drink your coffee_

_Knocks me the fuck out."_

\- Clementine Von Radics, 'For Nikki'

 

♡

 

            Louis’ twenty-third birthday—or as most other people would be accustomed to calling it—Christmas Eve was looming softly in the background, foreboding but not nearly as frightening as he would originally consider it to be. Now, his twenty-first birthday, or hell, even his eighteenth, was perhaps more striking.

            Cigarette lazily protruding from his parted lips, he gazed out the slightly propped-open window of Zayn’s shitty pickup truck, squinting as if to properly see beyond the fine film of dust and grime that had congregated upon the formerly-opaque surface. He’s sure that he can hear his companion audibly groaning—Zayn’s attempts to put a stop to his friend’s habit of smoking inside the vehicle were fruitless.

            “Quit your whining,” Louis chimed in jokingly, only a vague hint of agitation lacing his tone. “You’re a smoker yourself, so it shouldn’t be much of a burden to you if your dumb truck smells like an ashtray.”

            Zayn emitted a low laugh, and clucked his tongue. “Didn’t say anything in the first place,” he interjected. “No need to go assuming things about people, _Lewis._ ” The all-too-common mispronunciation of Louis’ name was something that he would however never get all too used to. Now, it was just something people used as a key tool to piss him off—well, really, it was only Zayn who did that. _Asshole._

Louis only shook his head, and took another long drag off the stub, puffing out a mouthful of ashy smoke, only to promptly flick it out the narrow crack of the window afterwards.

            Louis would have hardly agreed to allow Zayn to drag him out of their shared flat in the first place, but however, there was indeed a method behind his madness. Zayn had incessantly insisted on taking Louis out for his big day—only, it wasn’t really to take place on his ‘big day.’ Zayn had Christmas Eve plans with his longtime girlfriend, Perrie, instead. Figures. Louis was assuming that the sort of activities Zayn had planned entailed a great deal of making out, and well, he didn’t really feel too comfortable with allowing his mind to roam over whatever else the pair had in store. All he knew was that he was going to be sure to slot some time outside of the apartment whenever Perrie chose to show up.

            The brunette’s head pounded as Zayn’s cheap-sounding stereo blared way past what he would have thought would have been the volume limit—ironically enough, the tune flooding from the speakers is Blink-182’s ‘What’s My Age Again?’. Zayn bobs his head softly to the driving beat, Louis notes with a soft grin, mouthing the words as his dark eyes continue to remain locked on the vast roads ahead of them. He almost swears he can see Zayn’s lips curl into a half-smirk as he mouths the lyrics, ‘nobody likes you when you’re twenty-three.’ Which wasn’t true yet, technically.

            All that Louis was hoping was that wherever Zayn was planning on trekking out to right now, it would properly account for the time together they’d be losing when Zayn would be sucking on his girlfriend’s face within the span of two days.

 

♡

 

            “Are you _fucking serious_?”

            As if to further prove Louis’ previous predictions about Zayn’s unspoken destination true, they’ve arrived at a place that Louis assumed was generally for his friend’s own pleasure, and not his—they had pulled into damn _Hooters,_ of all places.

            Louis gave an indignant snort as Zayn recklessly sped into the peculiarly-vacant parking lot, giving him free reign to take up practically two spaces and park like a total jackass. He shook his head, feigning disbelief, although his mind was swimming while he mentally chided himself for actually convincing himself that Zayn would actually humor him as to take him somewhere he’d actually enjoy being at.

            The engine sputtered one final time before falling silent as the rickety truck veered into the nearest available slot nearby the entrance, the pair of them clicking their seatbelts and tearing free from the restraints before stumbling out the door and towards the world of busty blonde women and chicken wings ahead of them.

            As if to further signify Zayn’s total lack of class and perhaps, any sort of _dignity_ , he doesn’t even allow for the hostess behind the podium to even utter a single word to them, hardly even a greeting—Zayn makes a total beeline for the bar area, an unwilling Louis trailing behind his quick stride.

            Slumping over onto the barstool adjacent to the one Zayn’s occupied, propping his elbow up against the sickeningly-sticky counter, Louis let out a groan and promptly fumbled over his words while ordering his first of what he was sure to entail several more rounds of drinks—all while earning a rather quizzical look from the bartender. _News flash: not everyone that comes to Hooters is actually, literally overjoyed to be there. Big surprise. Louis should’ve worn one of those really dumb tee shirts that proudly and boldly proclaimed ‘Sorry girls, I suck dick.’ Because he really just needed to further broadcast his sexual preferences._ On the other hand, Zayn was brimming with actual childish glee.  

            “Stop being so pessimistic, mate,” Zayn chimed in, as if on cue, sipping gently from his icy bottle of beer.

            Louis could’ve downright slapped him right then and there if he could. Then again, getting into a full-on bar fight like from those crappy reality television programs with his best friend wasn’t Louis’ initial plan for the evening.

            He just simply feigned a smile, and took a long gulp from his own respective bottle once it was presented to him. Only his best forced smile plastered onto his face, he figured he’d have the ability to go on his well-deserved furious tirade as soon as they returned to their ‘humble abode.’ For now, he kept his mouth shut for what was likely to be for the better for both of them.

            “How am I being pessimistic?” he asked, only a slight hint of sarcasm creeping up in his tone, his voice unintentionally rising in the way it routinely did whenever he was pissed about something. “I’ve got an ice-cold beer, what could be better?”

            Zayn only gives an incoherent mumble and turns back towards his bottle lazily, and Louis more-than-willingly jerks his line of vision away from his companion, eyes drifting about the ghost town of a restaurant warily.

            Until as of now, Louis had hardly taken note of their silent accompaniment—a young-looking guy, perhaps just a bit _too young_ to be seated at a bar counter. He could hardly get a proper view of his face behind his massive mop of curly chestnut hair, the haphazard tufts providing a curtain for his face as he sipped gently from his half-empty bottle, his motions almost seemingly hesitant.

            The unnamed individual certainly must have taken note of Louis’ unintentional lingering gaze, because he promptly turned around in his stool and lazily set his bottle down onto the tabletop—and _holy shit_ , Louis thinks, _he’s actually really pretty. Like, really._

            Much to Louis’ pleasure, Zayn’s far too occupied with his own alcohol-induced endeavors to pay any mind to the intense staring contest his friend is currently holding against someone seated like five stools away from them. A smirk plays on the stranger’s lips, and Louis swears that he almost feels a soft blush creep up onto his cheeks, hoping the stranger will either not notice it or not care, or hell, even think the act cute or something.

            Which probably won’t happen. Considering he was inside Hooters as well, he likely made the journey out to the establishment not only for the cheap booze, but for the prospect of large-breasted women also. So, he’s most likely just playing him, thinks the gesture funny, or both.

            Before Louis can ask that question himself, the stranger pipes up in an oddly-unexpected deep tone, “What’s your name?”

            It’s as if Louis is starstruck, in a way. He doesn’t know what to respond with, as if he pathetically can’t recall on his own _damn name_ for a split moment. He simply answers with, “Louis,” without any further elaboration beyond that, as if to shield himself from embarrassingly fumbling over his words like he often did whenever graced with the presence of an individual he found to be incredibly attractive. Like now.

            The stranger only nods firmly before adding his own. “Harry,” he states in a tone way too serious for a guy who’s been sitting in Hooters for who knows how long while boozing himself up. “Uh…,” he begins, surely giving a feeble attempt to break through the now widespread silence that they’d allowed to pass between them. As if initially mulling over possible conversation starters, Harry appears as if he gives up on that after a while and straight-out scoots over towards the stool adjacent to Louis’, sandwiching the brunette in between both himself and Zayn—who, by the way, still paid no mind to either of them.

            Louis feels his skin bristle at the gesture, but it’s not as if Harry’s even interested in him in the slightest, he thinks. _Maybe the poor guy just has lacking social skills, or something._

            “Why’d you move over?” Louis prods, sounding more agitated than he was planning on coming off as. He immediately clasps his free hand over his mouth, cheeks warming as he mentally slaps himself in the face. Yet another thing he probably shouldn’t have said.

            However, surprisingly enough—Harry actually fucking _giggles_ at the action, and that signals for Zayn to whip his head around and actually pay witness to whatever social interaction his previously-ignored friend had been engaging in. Louis feels like he’s going to explode. He knows he shouldn’t have listened to Zayn. Nothing good or beneficial was ever a product of it.

            “I’m sorry,” Louis blurts, Zayn now actually willingly joining in on the laughter, his however more booming than Harry’s. “Youcantotallysitnexttomeifyouwant.” Now, he’s fumbling over his sentences, wording it as if it were one single syllable. God, he’s horrifyingly embarrassing.

            “No need to apologize,” Harry assures him in between short chuckles, pushing a clump of wavy tufts from his eyes. He says nothing more, as if making fun of Louis’ total loss of personal dignity is enough of a conversation starter.

            “Hey there,” Zayn adds once the laughing fest has subsided, calling out to Harry from around Louis’ small frame. “I’m Zayn.”

            “Harry,” he shouts back, the same wide grin still spread across his face.

            Zayn grins brilliantly, as if he’s just gained a new best friend to claim Louis’ slot, and he averts his gaze back towards the friend he’d actually arrived here with. Louis’ face is still somewhat flushed, and Zayn takes that as a signal to whisper to him—rather loudly, Louis may add—“Does Louis have a crush?”

            By now, he’s glaring daggers at Zayn, and he overhears Harry stifle yet another giggle right next to him. Louis snaps his head around, and Harry only shrugs. It’s then that he feels like his insides are going to burst for the millionth time tonight, and he only utters, “I need to go to the bathroom,” before stalking off, leaving the other two boys in their giggling fits behind.

 

♡

 

            Much to Louis’ relief, Harry is apparently long-gone when he returns from his ‘bathroom break.’ Zayn’s still grinning, and there’s hardly a single drop left in his bottle. Looks like Louis was on driving duty now, much to his disdain—Zayn’s truck was a total pain to drive. It was far too big for Louis, and it was trouble meandering it into their narrow, reserved parking space back at the apartment complex.

            Maybe Zayn’s drunk, he probably is, but the next words he mumbles only makes Louis want to asphyxiate him all the more.

            “Oh, I gave Harry your number,” he slurred. “Seemed like both of you could benefit from that.”

            By now, Louis is _fuming_ , it wouldn’t be of any shock to him if literal steam began drifting from his ears like in cartoons. However, before he can interject any further, his phone buzzes dully in his back pocket, as if by some unspoken agreement between Harry and Zayn.

            _New Text From Unknown Number: hey, louis. it’s harry. sorry if this is a bit creepy, but zayn gave me your number, haha. hope that’s ok. xx_

            Before he knows it, Louis’ skin is prickling again, and he immediately punches Harry’s number into his contact book before responding. Having completely put Zayn and his needs aside for the moment, he quickly types out a reply.

            _Louis: ha, that’s quite alright by me. sorry about him, by the way._

            _Harry: he’s a funny lad, no need to apologize. i was wondering if we could possibly hang out sometime?  i don’t think i properly introduced myself tonight._

            Louis furrows his brows and chews on his bottom lip absentmindedly. He doesn’t think it would be much of a burden on Zayn if he were to depart for an afternoon. He was too much of a hermit, anyways, he’d been meaning to get out more. That was also besides the fact that the thought of seeing Harry in person again would make his heart do a figure-eight. He mulls over this for a select moment, but taps in his reply after.

            _Louis: i’m in._

 _Harry: :)_ _  
_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of the thrilling saga, in which Louis actually injures himself and thinks Harry's stupidity cute in a rather twisted way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Yes, I know I'm really bad at summaries. But hey, there's the end of my little ficlet. Hope you guys liked this one, I had tons of fun writing it and had been wanting to get the idea down for a while. Thanks for reading, you're all fantastic.

_"I've tied my stomach in knots_

_And I'm ready to know_

_I'll put it on the line if you'd just give it a go_

_Cause I want to be the only one_

_To hold you so close and so tight_

_And if it's cool with you_

_I'd really love to spend the night."_

\- frnkiero andthe cellabration, 'She's The Prettiest Girl At The Party and She Can Prove It With A Solid Right Hook'      

     

♡

 

            How Louis ended up sitting shotgun in Harry’s minivan—yes, _minivan_ —he doesn’t know for sure.

            Although, technically, it was indeed the product of Zayn’s never-endless coaxing, maybe. Louis didn’t even know if he were to text Harry back in the first place, to which Zayn insisted would make him look like ‘the ultimate douchebag.’

            The pair had hardly spoken the entire car ride thus far—all it had generally consisted of was Louis sneaking random glances at Harry whilst he drove (which, one may argue, he was really horrendous at being ‘sneaky’) and Harry gently murmuring along to the words of George Harrison’s ‘My Sweet Lord’ as it filtered softly from the stereo. Louis, in all honesty, thought he was beautiful.

            As if by some odd subliminal message that Louis was in fact sure he wasn’t intending on sending—all that was crossing his mind as of now was Harry’s impossibly somehow angelic features—Harry cocks his head to the side slightly, his mess of curly locks still apparently flopping about his vibrant green eyes.

            “Why the silent treatment?” he asked, long fingers still laced around the steering wheel. He was grinning wildly, and Louis felt himself shift uncomfortably in his seat. Was he being rude? He hadn’t the foggiest idea, considering the ever-blatant fact (one that Zayn incessantly teased his roommate about) that going out on dates were hardly ever a routine occurrence for Louis. He was just naturally a homebody, oftentimes more than content to remain splayed out on his threadbare sofa, eyes locked on the dusty television screen. Maybe that’s why nobody ever asked him out; he practically never left the apartment.

            Louis simply shrugged, attempting to come off as casual on the topic when he was really honest-to-God chiding himself endlessly on the inside. “I didn’t want to bother you,” he stated, fiddling with his seatbelt. “Either way, you’re driving—which is a key factor in not acting as a distraction to you—and you were apparently rather invested in your music.”

            Gaze now re-averted back towards the winding back roads ahead of them, Harry made an unintelligible humming noise at the response given. “Fair enough,” he mumbled, now clearly distracted by the current task at hand. The final notes of ‘My Sweet Lord’ sputtered out almost right at the same moment Harry uttered his previous words, and straight afterwards, the sound of a Beatles tune began wafting through the close air between them.

            “’You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away,’” Louis nearly shouted out in recognition of the song, not even beginning to think first before he allowed the words to spew from his mouth.

            Harry chuckled lightly, probably feeling slight amusement from Louis’ gestures. It’s then that Louis presses his lips into a firm line before finally piping up again to note, “So, you’re a pretty big Beatles fan, huh?”

            Harry lets out another laugh, and shoots Louis a rather condescending look, as if to say, “No duh.” However, instead, he settles for, “What can I say? They’re all fucking geniuses,” he mutters, not after hesitating first—it’s as if he’s afraid to curse in front of Louis, who has a very strong reputation among his small circle of friends for ‘swearing like a sailor.’ “I think George was the most underappreciated among them. This is a John song, though.”

            Louis finds Harry’s little commentary to be the cutest damn thing he’s probably heard all day, hell, _weeks_ maybe, considering Zayn nor Perrie did little to provide for that. All they did was make out. It was a true wonder that Louis hadn’t taken up the habit of involuntarily regurgitating whole meals whenever he paid witness to them in the middle of the act.

            Harry’s even started singing again; this time louder though, and Louis can’t refrain from smiling this time—and maybe he even starts singing along as well.

 

♡

 

            “Close your eyes,” Harry whispers, probably intending to have it come off as an order but instead sounding more like a gentle suggestion. Like, you don’t have to close your eyes, but you totally should. Although Louis doesn’t see the point behind shutting his eyes, it’s not like he was expecting to be surprised by his date or something, he voluntarily goes along with it and allows his eyelids to flutter shut.

            Genuinely within seconds of first blocking off his line of vision, Harry taps at his date’s shoulder lightly as if to signify readiness for him to see whatever it is that he’s prepared. And, to be quite honest, Louis is actually really flattered that Harry’s even thought of the kind gesture, but he can’t help but feel the soft pangs of disappointment in his chest.

            Ice skates. Yes, Harry’s eagerly holding out a pair of ice skates in Louis’ direction. A pair of women’s ice skates, at that—ones that he would undeniably fall on his ass with. As embarrassing as the sight would be, a pair of children’s skates would be more desirable.

            Because, when it came to ice skating, Louis was a bona-fide ‘board clinger.’ Meaning that he hardly ever engaged in any real skating, he really just held onto the sideboards for dear life as if one single movement would send him flying off his feet and he would somehow end up with some undesirable injury of some sort.

            “Harry,” is all he can muster up at the moment. He briefly glances down at the ground and at the younger man’s feet, and it’s apparent that he’s already strapped his own pair on. “I hope you know I can’t really ice skate,” he adds a bit shyly, bringing his gaze back up towards Harry’s.

            For a moment, it looks as if Harry’s going to be really disappointed and is going to give him the exact opposite of a reaction that Louis would be looking forward to, but his neutral expression immediately drops and his lips curl into a gentle, tight-lipped smile.

            “That’s more than alright,” Harry assures him, gesturing for Louis to sit down onto the cracked wooden bench behind them. “You can hold onto me as much as you’d like.”

            Louis smiles again, as if to signify his gratitude, and he thinks for a moment that he can maybe permit himself to enjoy tonight. He hardly even begins to protest when Harry courteously ties his skates on for him and softly takes him by the hand to lead him towards the makeshift outdoor rink.

            Louis’ first steps onto the thick sheet of ice are rather hesitant and just a bit wobbly, but nonetheless, Harry’s still grasping onto his hand firmly, a look of worry plaguing his face—and making Louis feel just a bit bad about Harry’s apparent concern. It wasn’t like he was going to die. Or, he wasn’t planning on it, at least. On the eve of his twenty-third birthday, accidental death by ice skating was not on his agenda.

            “See?” Harry added, as if to encourage him further. “Not that bad.”

            Louis nodded furiously, eyes glued to the skates shoved onto his small feet. He felt that one wrong move could send him tumbling onto the cold, unforgiving icy surface below them. _How morbid_.

            Harry laughed lightly and began meandering slowly amongst the throngs of skaters ahead of them. That is, not without Louis clenching onto his arm and rather _stepping_ in sync with Harry instead of actually _skating._

Louis kept sending himself words of encouragement in his head, as if his thoughts were a broken record. Oddly enough, he thought that maybe if he did this enough, he could perhaps ensure his lack of injuries tonight. Not that he didn’t trust Harry or anything. He just _knew_ that his own clumsiness could find a way.

            However, after a good while of Harry’s seemingly-fruitless attempts to get Louis moving freely about the rink, he actually gets a decent amount of courage to actually wrench himself loose of Harry’s arm—he’s still practically glued to his side as if to further ensure further accident prevention, though.

            “There you go,” Harry states, sounding more like a proud mother watching her young son take off on his bicycle without training wheels for the first time rather than a twenty or so year-old guy helping his date surpass his fear of ice skating.

            Believe it or not— _big surprise_ —Louis is actually starting to somehow enjoy himself, which was indeed his initial purpose. Moving about the ice, he feels oddly graceful, and simply the action of skating itself is absolutely liberating.

            That is, until Harry decides to _literally_ sweep Louis off his feet after witnessing another couple do the same, one grasping firmly onto the other’s hands as they gracefully whirled around together, one peculiarly enough being lifted from the ground while the other’s feet remained firmly planted on the ice.

            Louis hardly even had time to attest his objections; neither of them were professional figure skaters the last time he checked. Before he knows it, he’s being miraculously lifted from the ground. He didn’t even know Harry had it in him, what with how tall and gangly he was. He’s not even thinking, he can’t even process the world spinning about him as he’s flying through the frosty air, nubby fingernails sinking into Harry’s calloused palm.

            And he’s falling. Down, down, down.

            This hardly even registers in his brain until he feels and _hears_ the sickening _crunch_ as he lands directly upon his ankle. Pain immediately sears throughout the entire area, and there’s not a single doubt in his mind that his ‘crash landing’ has created a fracture.

            He doesn’t exactly know if this is how first dates usually occur.

 

♡

 

            Not unlike any other day, Louis is bedridden, and Zayn is less than willing to nurse his injured friend back to health. Probably because today’s the day he had his long-awaited plans with Perrie.

            And it was also Louis’ birthday. Not that Zayn would care to acknowledge that. All that was received from his end was an incomprehensible “Happy birthday, mate,” and a card that was probably scribbled out last minute.

            Louis doesn’t remember being ushered out from the rink within the confines of a stuffy ambulance, nor does he recall on being rushed into the emergency room of their local hospital during the late hours of the evening.

            But, he does remember Harry’s sweetly heartfelt apology and how much it seemed to hurt _him_ that he had caused Louis any harm. Especially on their first date, considering how _you know_ , people usually tended to like making good first impressions on those sorts of things.

            Louis is scowling evilly at the cast his left foot is currently donning, propped up with the support of what must have been all the pillows Zayn could acquire from their modest apartment.

            He thinks he’s just about to doze off for the next five hours or so when Harry comes padding gently through the doorway, flanked by Zayn and not shockingly, Perrie as well. He’s got a bouquet of fresh roses clutched in his arms and the same general expression of grief and concern is plastered across his face again.

            “You’re so cheesy,” Louis groans, intending to sound more snarky than he came off as. Maybe it was just the fatigue that snatched away his ability to do so.

            Harry smiles softly, though not as happy-looking as he was before the accident occurred, and steps hesitantly over to the little fort Zayn had constructed for him.

            The roses having been set down onto the stained, worn-down coffee table adjacent to the sofa, Harry kneels down onto the wooden floor and presses a soft kiss to Louis’ forehead.

            “Again, I’m really sorry,” he mumbles somewhat embarrassedly. “I shouldn’t have done that. That was stupid.”

            Louis shrugs, because in all honesty, he found Harry’s unadulterated enthusiasm to be kind of… cute. In a weird way. It would’ve just sealed the deal further if he hadn’t unfortunately fallen and broken any bones.

            “It’s fine,” Louis assures him, his voice still sounding croaky and bearing uncanny resemblance to a frog’s. He has Zayn’s reluctance to actually make him the can of soup he’d asked for relentlessly to thank for that.

            All is silent for a moment, as if the pair are mulling over their thoughts again, until Harry finally tentatively breaks it. “Well, I don’t want to sit here and bother you all day.”

            Louis, again, doesn’t protest, but not for the reason anyone may think. You can’t really bring yourself to speak when someone else’s lips are pressed to yours.

            The same feeling from that first night at Hooter’s is now bubbling in the pit of Louis’ stomach again, and he might as well just explode now. He’s blushing, that’s for sure, and Harry’s kiss could just really account for the inconvenience of the broken ankle.

            “There’s a note attached to the bouquet, by the way,” Harry continues, tugging his jacket back over his tattooed arms. Louis nods feebly, and mumbles a soft goodbye before he’s out the door once more.

            He slowly extends his accessible arm out to grasp the bunch of flowers, and allows his eyes to scan over it for a moment before his gaze finally falls upon the small slip of folded paper.

            Scrawled out in it is a general birthday message, but what’s beyond that is what makes Louis want to hop off his ass and chase after Harry just to kiss him one last time.

            ‘ _I can’t wait for date number two. Love, Harry xx’_


End file.
